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| Floor mosaics in the Church of St. Nicholas |
Our first stop, en route to our home base in Kaş,
was the ancient and seasonally apropos site of Myra (modern-day Demre),
bishopric of the historical Saint Nicholas. The last time I'd been there, the
town was so overrun with Russian tourists that we didn't even bother to see old St. Nick's
incredibly well preserved Byzantine church. If a similar crowd had come for
Christmas, they were gone the day after, because we had the place virtually to
ourselves, a common and welcome occurrence during the succeeding days and
sites.
The church's nearly flawless state of preservation is a
result of the modern soil level reaching almost exactly to the tip of its
two-story height. To tour the Church, visitors therefore descend into a hollow
in the ground with impressive retaining walls. I'm not normally attracted to or
overly impressed by churches, but the mosaics and frescoes of St. Nicholas are breathtakingly beautiful and vibrant and the passing rainstorm gave the whole place
a feeling of freshness and clarity that stuck with me for days. For some reason
I had always understood our modern Santa Claus to equally descend from the legend
of this 4th-century Greek bishop and the
Germanic tradition of Sinterklaas. I
was quite surprised to learn the latter is just an elision/transliteration of
the same man's name. The longer I live here, the more I begin to think that
almost everything originates in Turkey.
On the other side of town from the church is a much more
ancient site dominated by a Roman theater that is situated beside an impressive
assemblage of Lycian tombs. These I had seen before, but through the fresh eyes
of my parents, and beneath the exploring feet of my daughters, both structures
shined anew.
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| Theater at Myra |
More heavy rain hit us on the winding road to Kaş, slowing
our progress and forcing us to descend into the town in total darkness.
Our lovely little "villa" (only a slight exaggeration) was on a peninsula outside Kaş proper, and it was probably a good thing we couldn't see just how precipitously the wet road plunged into the Mediterranean at each of the hairpin turns as they were scary enough in dry daylight.
Our lovely little "villa" (only a slight exaggeration) was on a peninsula outside Kaş proper, and it was probably a good thing we couldn't see just how precipitously the wet road plunged into the Mediterranean at each of the hairpin turns as they were scary enough in dry daylight.
The next day was spent somewhat leisurely acclimating to the
coastal lifestyle and getting a sense of Kaş. We explored the restored
Hellenistic theater in a light rain and Doc, the twins, and I scampered around
the high ground above it until rendezvousing with Lizzie and Nana on a verdant trail
to one of the Lycian tombs Lizzie discussed in her book. I never tire of
finding ancient architecture sitting forlorn and under-appreciated in such easily
accessible places and can only imagine what it must be like to grow up with such awesome play forts and hidey holes.
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| Theater in Kaş |
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| Lycian tomb from Lizzie's book |
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| Nana vs. Baby Goat |
On the way down we encountered a goat mother
and kid and the playful billy briefly squared off with Nana before ceding the
path.
We ate that night at a cozy little place up a narrow street.
Outside we met and were warmly welcomed by a Kiwi and his Aussie girlfriend in
town for a break from crewing a pleasure yacht. Inside, we tried our
rudimentary Turkish on our waiter, only to be told he understood English
better. Turns out he was a Kurd, in Kaş to spell
his cousin (the restaurant's owner). Usually he lived in Norway, where he was
(according to his own boast) a famous lothario, but lest we get the wrong idea
he proudly displayed the name of his Norwegian wife, which was tattooed on his
arm. The next day, at a cafe specializing in gözleme (a wonderful flatbread
crepe), our waiter was another stand-in for that restaurant owner's pregnant
wife. Normally he lived in the south of France. He also ran a real estate shop
across the street in case we were in the market. Kaş was clearly an
interdimensional waystation for colorful characters.
Day two took us up the coast to two more Lycian/Roman
sites. First up was Patara, famous for its abutting white sand beach and a
heavily restored bouleuterion (council hall)
where the Lycian League, arguably the first known democratic body in history,
met and debated the issues of the day. After a bit of a bushwhack to find my
favorite Pataran feature--an imperial-era Roman Temple with a mammoth doorway
and lintel--Nana and the girls were ready to hit the beach. Doc and Lizzie
dutifully walked off to find the ruins of the lighthouse. We met up later for
quite an ample picnic on the sand, sitting on a convenient shelf made by the
tide. So few people were there
that I felt bad for the proprietors of the deserted beach shack, so we capped
off the visit with a big beer and some tea while C & E indulged their aboriginal
fantasies on the beach. An ambassador of the famous but so far elusive breed of
Van cats that Callie and Ella love some much (known by their snow white coats and
heterochromic eyes—one blue, one green) graced us with a brief visit and then
we were off to Letoon. |
| Van cat and anonymous hipster |
It wouldn't be a proper road trip if we didn't wander the
wrong way down a strange path, so we indulged Doc and Nana en route with a
little detour into a community comprised entirely of greenhouses.
Bisecting this glass village was a single, brick-paved road that was evidently being constructed at the very moment we accidentally happened upon it. At its unexpected terminus,
through a gauntlet of puppies, chickens, and curious villagers, we met a gaggle of men
building the road who greeted our inquiries about the location of Letoon with faces
both amused and confused. A tricky twenty-point turn, with full complement of
spectators, sent us back the way we came, red-faced but eventually on track.
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| Arched entrance to theater at Letoon |
Letoon is a roadside site, easily missed and on this day a
bit muddy. Without Lizzie along to explain the salient features of its three
temples and theater, it probably would not have registered very highly on the wow-o-meter,
which is probably why the guard and his dutiful assistant closed up the place the
minute after they achieved their single-visit quota.
On the way back to Kaş, we paused above Kalkan to snap a few
shots of a stunning sunset. That night and the two days following brought several
bouts of torrential rain, which meant we could lay low for a bit and relax before
heading back to Ankara.
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| Sunset over Kalkan |
We did take one final short trip up the coast to an amazing
little beach called Kaputaş Plajı, situated where a gorge splits open the
towering rock faces that make the Turquoise Coast so unique. Down several steep
flights of steps, waves crashed upon a stony beach with suitably dramatic
flair and sent us running for higher ground. In the summer, at lower tides, the place is
apparently packed but we were once again alone and thankful every minute of it.
On the steps back up we noticed a little stencil that succinctly summarized our
travel philosophy.
Beyond that we lounged by the pond-water pool, we played
with the pack of cats who haunted the villa's grounds, lunched under the vine-covered
veranda, and took a nice walk around the peninsula. Doc and I even trespassed
(at his urging) onto an abandoned property tricked out like some kind of ridiculous Knossos
knock-off. It had clearly once been a bar, and would be one again if we had
anything to say about it. Alas I only took one picture for posterity.
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| Kediler everywhere |
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| Doc surveys the site of his future bar |
We chose an alternate route back to Antalya that took us
through Elmalı, the highland plateau town where Lizzie spends each summer excavating. A
sometime guard met us there and unlocked the site for us. Lizzie took us on
a whirlwind tour of the mound that ended in sleet, with me crouched over a puddle trying to
clean the girls' boots and Lizzie unknowingly offering a bag of clementines from Kaş to
a man with a yard full of orange trees. Good thing, too, because it later gave
the girls something to eat while we waited for our delayed flight to finally
board. Evidently there's an old adage that says half an orange tastes just as
sweet as a whole one. Clearly the man or
woman who said that never got to eat an entire bag.
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| Mountains en route to Elmalı |
